In the Wings of an Angel, in the Heart of a Man
by RachyBaby09
Summary: “He is pleased with you…” Christine Daaé is taken through the mysterious dressing room mirror and into the Phantom's underworld after her debut. ONESHOT where Erik gets a happy ending. Fluff-filled sexuality. Please R&R!


_a/n: Here's a steamy, fluffy, long oneshot to satisfy your naughty POTO needs. It is not overly explicit and is definitely romantic. :) __Please, please take a moment to read and review. This phic took alot of time and energy, and I would LOVE any and all feedback. Let me know your thoughts, I cherish them. Please? :)_

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_In the Wings of an Angel, in the Heart of a Man_

"He is pleased with you."

Madame Giry placed the exquisite rose into Christine's grasp with a faint half smile. Christine nodded her thanks, as she accepted the familiar token; it was not the first time Madame Giry had spoken of 'him,' Christine's mysterious admirer. Christine often inquired Madame Giry and her strange dedication…whom 'he' was, and why he had not ever shown himself. To Christine's dismay, Madame Giry's response had been always silence, accompanied by a wilted and tragic expression.

But tonight was far from the familiar. Tonight, much to Christine's joy, Madame Giry humored her intrigue. "Within time, my child. Within time."

Christine's soul blushed at Madame Giry's words. A shy anticipation filled Christine's tummy, as she wondered the face of her suitor; but all thoughts quickly returned to her beloved Angel of Music. Her curiosity had felt much like betrayal. She had betrayed him.

But Christine's soul quickly sighed in divine relief; she knew she had wedded her fate long, long ago. Her affection for her strange Angel could never falter. No handsome suitor stood a chance to her unearthly love. And, besides, such an affair would not be proper. She and her Angel were one. Any affection she could feel for a suitor would pale in comparison.

Oh, how this evening was full of surprises!

* * *

Christine thoughtfully stroked the stem's elegant length, eyes unblinking, lost within her own whirlwind of thoughts. She carefully caressed the velvet petals, her opposite hand tugging at the black bow, reverently loosening the satin from the rose's thornless stem. She undressed the rose with careful and deft fingers—not wanting to disturb the lovely petals. Such a thing would have been positively sinful!

Sprinkled dew drops bathed the blood-red petals, glistening like crystallized tears beneath the dressing room's soft illumination. Christine was entirely mesmerized by its simple perfection and charm. The flawless rose offered Christine nothing short of haunting beauty…much like her so secretive suitor. A rose which was far from natural, bearing no thorns, its petals a soft velvet and color a devilish shade of red.

Christine lay the crimson gift beside the vanity's mirror as an airy sigh fled her parted lips. She removed the flower barrettes which fastened back her chocolate mane of curls; they spilled and descended sensually across her milky complexion, seductively framing her dancer's body. She sat herself and studied her reflection with a curious, new interest. Dark curls cascaded just past the small of her tiny waist; others found intimate shelter within the sanctuary of her cleavage.

An angelic, silky voice swelled all around Christine. All five of her senses acted on their own accord, as she surrendered to the adorable Voice's enthralling will. Christine's spine stiffened and tensed indefinitely; her eyes slipped shut, thoughts spiraling into a foreign and sensual paradise. Christine shifted her seated body weight to and fro, as her Master's heavenly calling devoured her mind, body, soul…and all in one breath.

The Voice shifted about the dressing room…the candles gently flickered, whispering his words of praise…the mirror spoke to her…

Christine's eyes danced around the room, amused and half smiling, trying desperately to locate the adorable Voice. Her pursuit was frivolous and in vain; the Voice had a life of its own, travelling from one corner to another…from the ceiling, down to the floor beneath her feet. Soon, it settled just behind Christine, intimately near. It seemed to breathe onto the nape of her neck; she felt the infernal, penetrating heat of his words. It burned. Christine tightened against her chair and inhaled a deep, shaky breath…victim to seduction.

Christine's eyes slowly blinked open. She saw herself…she saw her flushed cheeks, heaving chest and trembling body. In herself, she saw the power of the Voice.

She had witnessed her undeniable attraction to the Voice.

Christine frowned and mentally kicked herself, scolding these terrible sensations; how wrong and sinful it was…finding ecstasy within an angel's voice! Blasphemy! By, God—what would her loving Papa say? She inwardly vowed: had it been a man's voice, she would've pursued its master shamelessly. But such a voice was nothing short of divine; no flesh and blood person could possess such a voice! That voice was every bit seductive, and Christine decided either she was a darkly tainted person, or her Angel was a dark being…a fallen angel, perhaps.

From his shadows, he called to her. "Christine…" She responded with a visual shiver, feeling as though the chilling voice was hands, and they were intimately caressing every, last inch of her tingling flesh. Desire welled deeply inside the empty womb of her soul; she ached for her inner void to be filled. He could complete her.

"Christine…"

She returned his call, equally passionate, equally tender. "My Angel…Angel of Music…such endless longings."

The voice resonated a soulful sigh. It didn't hesitate to compliment Christine, and she blushed tremendously.

"You have pleased me greatly."

"I sang my soul out, for you alone."

"Your soul is a beautiful thing, my child, and I thank you. The angels wept tonight."

Her Angel's voice overflowed with indescribable emotion, affection and sincerity…and Christine swore that it sounded…curiously human. A thick silence consumed both Angel's; frantic knocking had disturbed their romantic moment.

Another familiar, masculine voice rang out, a bit muffled. "Whose is that voice? Who is that in there?"

A tingle of jealously laced the young man's words.

Christine leaped from the charming sofa-chair with a nostalgic smile; she recognized her childhood sweetheart's missed voiced! Christine smoothed and collected her rustling skirts, quickly making way for the shut dressing room door. Her hand wrapped the cool bronze. Christine chewed her bottom lip; she could not recall locking it.

The door's shining knob remained unturned.

Christine's Angel's song beckoned her with a seductive and hypnotic melody. Christine spun elegantly on her heel, like the graceful ballerina she was, drawn to his fiery call. She stepped forward, her body behaving on its own accord. She was a moth; he, a scorching flame of burning desire which ignited her own. The two, dark creatures fed off their shared passion, fueling each other's unquenchable need.

Christine gazed into the full-length mirror, slinking towards her elegant reflection and the disembodied song.

Raoul's cry suddenly became louder and more desperate, jolting Christine from her sedation. Flustered, she turned back to the door, and, once again, towards her Raoul.

The haunted voice was smooth, suave, and dark…

"My child…tonight you shall know me. See why in shadow I hide…"

Christine's conflicted hand froze mid-air, lingering just above the knob's cold bronze. Christine met an inner crossroad; she knew not how or why, but something warned Christine that her next movement would be, in the end, either her destruction or creation.

"Come, Christine…come, dear child…come and believe in your Angel…as I have believed in you…"

She found herself to be gradually descending into a realm of torn emotion; the equally passionate voices verbally dueled each other, beckoning Christine in a perfect unity. In a matter of moments, her two, fond men had become something much different, reborn. Raoul, Christine's sweetheart, no longer called to her with childish innocence; his tone presented much romantic promise. But Christine's concealed Angel of Music was seducing her from Raoul's unsubtle affection and intent.

It had been eleven musical years, and her Angel, now, wished to reveal himself?

_Why? And for what purpose? How could it be? _Christine wondered with wide-eyed oblivion.

She pictured him as only a voice, free from any and all mortal mesh. He was her adoring, jealous Angel; and she…his dedicated and loyal protégé.

The two masculine voices overlapped in a blurred cyclone, competing for her attention; suffocating the flustered soprano beyond belief.

"Christine! Who is in there with you? That voice—who is that man?"

"Christine! Look at your face in the mirror! I am there inside…"

"Christine! For pity's sake, open to me. Christine…?"

"Believe in me…I am your Angel of Music…come to your Angel of Music…"

And Christine Daaé believed.

Her self-confliction resolved itself as her name was breathed through a seductive, musical hum. Erik knew too well what ignited Christine's passion, dampening her will power. This wasn't the first time his voice left her putty in his ghostly hands—it would not be the last.

The flawless voice fanned around Christine, pulling her to it, to the mirror.

"_Christine…Christine…believe in me…look into the mirror, and come to your Angel…see me, know me…in the spirit and flesh; I am your Angel of Music…"_

Needless to say, she did as commanded. Christine's eyes focused on her reflected self. Swirling mist clouded her dazed reflection, and the mirror transformed into a tempting portal to Heaven.

Her eyes squinted, fighting the illusion; it was then that she found she wasn't alone. An expressionless and chaste, white face floated beside her, elegantly glowing against the broad expanse of black. _My Angel of Music,_ Christine fantasized. She paced closer and closer to the majestic wonder, hesitation slightly slowing her steps. Soon, she was dangerously close; the flowing mist thinned around her, revealing a man.

Not an angel of Heaven. Not a pure deity. Instead, an intimidating man had taken her Angel's place, clothed in France's finest, his eyes an alluring slate of emerald.

She studied the powerful figure before her and gasped aloud. Christine stepped and glanced backwards. Her chocolate eyes anxiously searched about the dressing room; the mysterious man was not to be found! No—instead, the man was sealed completely behind the cold and unfeeling glass. He was so close, yet so far away! Out of her touch, plaguing her mind. Christine's chin dropped, unable to make sense of such a phenomenon.

Then, suddenly, his gloved hand tore through the sulking fog for her taking; it severed the barrier keeping them apart, out of each others quivering reach. Slowly, everything began to fall into place for Christine…

This was far more than a dressing room mirror; she stood before one-way glass, a window to her mind and soul. His window. It was a magical mirror, the one connection to their two, opposite worlds. There, behind the transparent glass, waited her false Angel of Music in all his glory. Never had she seen a more powerful creature; those eyes pierced her very soul.

Overwhelmed, she took another step back. Then, another and another.

Christine's alarm and hesitation worried Erik; he spoke to her gently, an odd mesh of adoration and desperation lining his burning gaze. She had behaved exactly as he'd predicted; taken aback, scared, bewildered. Erik hated frightening Christine—and having deceived her simple soul—but knew it was an inevitable sin; he loved her. To Hell if some foolish boy was going to sweep her away.

"Christine…do not be frightened…I am your Angel of Music…come…come to your Angel…come with me, join me…Christine."

Her widened eyes shifted between the tempting hand and glowing porcelain, her inner debate made visible to Erik.

She was having serious doubts, and, so, Erik persuaded her with the only way he knew how: the power of his voice. She would succumb to him, as she had done, time and time again.

"My Angel, my Christine…come to your Angel of Music, Christine…trust me, know me…"

Christine's breathing fell more and more shallow, complexion paling. Her emotions and thoughts danced a vicious tango; in a solitary breath, Christine was both frightened and intrigued, hesitant and determined. Her false idol wasn't a ghost, phantom, or angel…he was, quite simply, a man.

He was a powerful man; his presence alone was nothing short of thrilling.

Her Angel of Music was a well dressed gentleman. A well dressed gentleman hiding beneath a half-mask.

To her surprise, Christine didn't feel the least bit betrayed or deceived; she, instead, was further entranced, now, completely powerless and left at the man's mercy. His beck and call.

After all…hadn't Christine's deepest longing and most sacred prayer come true? Was her Angel not a man?

Yes; this man was seducing her through an angel's voice, offering her himself…

"Christine…come with me to sweet music's throne…"

He offered Christine his beautiful music, his hidden palace…Christine was sure. She knew his opposite world was a musical one. A world of music and sensuality; darkness and forbidden stirrings. Raoul's yells went unheard by the mesmerized Christine.

Her eyes fixed themselves on the tempting satin of his glove, as she sang beneath her stolen breath, only half awake. Her soul fluttered and soared. "My Angel of Music, guide and guardian…grant to me your glory, at last, Master…"

"COME TO THE ANGEL OF MUSIC…I AM YOUR ANGEL OF MUSIC!" Raoul shuddered behind the locked door, as Erik's voice resonated through most of the opera house.

A nearby, hidden Madame Giry splayed a weak and trembling hand across a heaving chest. The angelic voice worked magic on her soul, as well. Madame Giry's head lifted in silent prayer; _'please, don't let Christine break his heart, confirm humanity's cruelty and heartlessness.'_

Christine's rosy lips surrendered to a subtle smile; she accepted her Angel's compelling touch, her body madly shivering. Erik firmly pulled her through the magical mirror, into his underworld and arms.

Christine's breath caught in her chest; being caressed by her Angel's song and touch, all at once, was far beyond her. Erik's hands tenderly wrapped her waist, pulling her intimately near and uniting their two bodies. At last.

Their two defenseless bodies contoured, molding together like an odd puzzle. Christine and her strange, dark Angel; it was a heavenly fit, both creatures carved by God, himself. Tense and tremulous bodies trembled against each other, inflamed and aching painfully. Only within Erik's fantasies had he experienced a woman's touch; and, those painful dreams held room only for Christine Daaé.

Only Christine, always Christine.

His roaring heartbeat thundered against her back, proving her Angel's anxiety and inner doubts; proving his humanity. She didn't think it possible; Christine knew—her Angel was far more nervous than herself…and she'd never been more nervous than now…over her entire seventeen years.

One hand slid up the length of her back, painfully slow, pulling wild curls away from her fallen neck. Warm lips descended onto her newly exposed flesh, claiming it as his own. Christine sucked in her shallow breath, limbs tightening against the man, she knew, reigned over her entire being.

Erik breathed his fiery song onto her neck's nape, and Christine melted into his strong arms.

"Softly, deftly, music shall surround you…hear it, feel it, closing in around you…" She wilted in his touch and voice. "Christine…help me make the music of the night…"

A sharp gasp erupted from her throat; Raoul had burst through the door, sadness warping his charming face. Raoul's pitiful call echoed opposite the glass as he searched about for Christine, not understanding. Christine's hands propped onto the cool glass, grazing it with guilt; Erik peeled them away. He brought each hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to her tingling flesh one at a time. She swallowed her aching stomach as their intense gazes locked.

Again, she turned towards her disheartened Raoul, knowing she'd done him wrong.

"Sing once again with me, our strange duet…my power over you grows stronger yet…though you turn from me, to glance behind…"

Erik rotated Christine a bit too roughly, aligning her slender body with his much larger, intimidating form; he stepped back several steps, drinking in Christine's immaculate presence in her entirety. The brightly lit dressing room glowed behind Christine, transforming her into no more than a graceful silhouette. Her heavy breaths enhanced her rising and sinking curves in a wicked tease.

Christine marvelled in the aura of Erik's scent; an exotic blend of foreign spices and the frost of winter time.

Ghosting a hand over her heaving body, "…the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind."

Erik felt rather fatigued, unable to stomach such flawlessness. Unable to stomach Christine! His sweet Christine had grown up; before him stood a breathtaking siren, the goddess of any man's fantasy. She had always been lovely, but, now, Erik found Christine's beauty was burning him alive. Perhaps, he shouldn't take her down below, after all…he only imagined; Erik prayed he had enough self restraint. Christine was testing his suppressed sexual drive. For the first time, Erik truly felt of flesh and blood; his forbidden longings were torturing him to the point of pain.

A lifetime of intimate denial was closing in on Erik, and he felt the growing need to take it out on the one who owned his soul: Christine Daaé.

His powerful gaze penetrated Christine as it slowly climbed down the length of her alluring figure. His eyes filled with desire and sensuality; this frightened Christine immensely.

Erik continued to drink her in; through a silky, barely there whisper, "Oh, Christine…**my** Christine…"

Again he took her hand in his with a gentle kiss; she blushed mercilessly. He guided his temptress forward, opposite hand snugly knotting her fragile waist.

She paid a final glance through the one-way glass as she parted from her shining world. Erik cradled her fallen chin, turning it away from the garish light. She met his dark, soulful eyes and never again looked back.

* * *

Christine abandoned any and all thoughts of Raoul De Chagny after several steps; only her Angel of Music—her maestro, this man, kept in her thoughts. She couldn't help but wonder: was this some wicked fantasy? It was nothing of the tangible, for, no human emotion could ever describe the sensations which consumed Christine that fateful night.

Erik's emerald gaze never dared to part from Christine, as he expertly led her through the maze of blackened corridors. He feared this was, yet, another cruel dream from which he would too soon awaken.

Christine noted how his movements were graceful and beautiful, almost ghost like. She found herself trembling with torrid ecstasy; the combination of his powerful, familiar song and gentle, unknown touch was beyond intoxicating. Beyond any words. Christine suddenly craved a more intimate touch and nearness; and she, certainly, wasn't one to think such unorthodox thoughts…but he threatened to change all that. Both creatures wickedly challenged each other, testing their scorching drives and sensuality. Their hidden sexuality.

Never had Christine been touched in such a way!

A frightening chill swept through Christine, as she was led deeper and deeper into the never-ending darkness, far from everything and everyone…the warmth and promise of light. Far from the noble le Vicomte De Chagny.

Though, Christine knew all too well: she would follow this enchanting voice into the crimson depths of Hell.

She squinted against the dark; a quaint lake waited ahead. Erik scooped her into his arms effortlessly. Erik pulled her near to his chest, cradling her as one would a helpless baby; she couldn't help but squeal a bit. Christine's slender arms knotted his neck, holding on for dear life. His height was intimidatingly tall; the fall would've been a great one.

Erik carried her in his arms and voice, marveling how incredibly light she was…so…weightless, so vulnerable. As Erik approached the lake, the reality hit him; he grew more and more flustered. Soon, his grip weakened. He felt as if little Christine was made purely of iron.

Erik emitted a relieved sigh; at last, he reached the lake, releasing Christine ever so carefully, spiraling her into his gondola. Her slim figure sprawled vulnerably across its swollen panels.

A small lantern dangled off the gondola's bow; Erik turned its knob, bringing forth its subtle light. Using the heel of his boot, Erik kicked the gondola from its landing, maneuvering it through the hazy water. The tiny lantern swayed with grace, its soft illumination bleeding across the lake. It served as a rather poor excuse of light, yet romanticized the Phantom's grave world.

It's quite amazing…how much difference a bit of light can make. Hell melted into Heaven. As if by magic, countless candelabras tore through the lake's brittle surface.

Erik glanced down at Christine, chancing a look. Her head tilted back, rosebud lips parted, drinking in his full height. Trousers snug, his legs long and powerful. Chin—strong and distinguished. The oar ripped through the lake's surface in repetitive, graceful strokes. Their eyes locked; she returned his intense stare from beneath her full fan of lashes, unknowingly fluttering them a bit. His stance awarded him with a nice view of Christine and all she offered. Erik cursed himself; this would very well be the end of him.

The gondola smoothly swan across the Phantom's underground lake, maneuvering about with fine precision and care. After an intense moment, the gondola slammed against the pavement, jolting Christine from her sedation. Erik out-held his gloved hand for Christine's taking; he waited in anticipation and awe, his eyes never abandoning her beauty, knowing there would be no going back. And Christine accepted his touch, entering her Angel's world.

* * *

Christine's graceful breathing drew Erik's stare down the entire length of her. Her breaths were long, the rise of her chest ascending and sinking with each one. He ached, longing to reach out to her adorable perfection, experience her feminine embrace and all it seemed to offer.

Never had Erik experienced a woman's affection. Erik coldly remembered, as a boy, crying out for his mother's comfort; being denied her kisses. To Erik, a woman's touch was an impossible, foreign thing, and he was undeserving. Erik was nearing forties, and never kissed. Over the years, he had come to accept this.

But his heart caved in at the very thought…Christine Daaé…his sweet Angel's intoxicating touch. She was the face of his song; the promise of light and love within his dark world. Christine shivered wildly; seeing her discomfort, Erik knelt beside her, snugly wrapping her within his cape's warmth. (Though, it did little for Christine's comfort—it was certainly not the cold which made her shiver.)

She tightened the oversized material around herself, murmuring a barely there, "Thank you." Her words of appreciation spoke far beyond the obvious.

Christine Daaé had thanked her Angel of Music for giving her life.

Erik's handsome, forest green eyes looked upon her with such unfathomable kindness, such love and sensitively. Christine felt his very soul; a lifetime of loneliness lined the depths of those saddened eyes. She hadn't seen such thoughtful eyes since her loving Papa.

Noticing the cloak drooping from her shoulders, Erik secured the falling wool. He ran gloved fingertips through her long curls with deft and musical hands, the faintest smile claiming his lips. He was so proud; she had pleased him greatly.

His free hand vanished behind his back—only for a moment—bringing forth a single, long stemmed rose…as if by magic. She smiled, impressed by his suave slight of hand. He set the crimson rose into her quivering grasp, unable to stifle back a warm smile. Erik watched with fascination as Christine's little fingertips stroked its velvet petals, and black satin, with wide-eyed wonderment. After a thoughtful moment, her expression transformed to a combination of awe and shock; he was her admirer.

Their unspoken interaction was painfully strong, an undeniable, palpable intimacy floating between them.

Christine stood and turned away, gazing upon the most glorious, most remarkable sight she had yet to see. Heaven, no doubt. And, who would have imagined? Within the opera's bowels, this blackened hell, rested a tender slice of heaven? The dozens of candelabras' soft illumination enhanced Christine's beauty; Erik's breath painfully caught in his chest. He was unable to stomach such perfection.

Her intimate nearness might have very well been his death. And what a glorious death it would have been! He would have gone down in glorious flames of desire!

He wanted Christine in every imaginable way. He had long time possessed her soul; Erik yearned to posses the beauty of her flesh.

He had loved her as the Angel of Music. Now, he wished to love her as _a man._

Erik's cloak fell from Christine's figure, pooling at her heel.

Her chaste white 'Margarita' gown glowed brilliantly, blending with her snowy complexion. Dark, chocolate curls draped seductively over her dancer's frame. Woven roses, complimentary to her gown, swam through her tresses, clashing against her hair's cinnamon hue. Erik closely observed the graceful rhythm of Christine's breathing, mesmerized; her intakes intensified with each passing moment as she soaked in Erik's lair.

Entranced by the surrounding wonders, she roamed about his underworld, marveling all it offered. She lay Erik's flawless rose carefully over the organ's ivory keys. The calligraphic words 'Don Juan Triumphant' danced across her lovely eyes.

Silkily, "Oh, Christine…"

The heavenly voice filled her spirit, wrapping her very soul within Erik's palm. That voice…Christine loved that voice; she always had. Christine was attached to her beloved angel with ties far stronger than reason could ever hope to break; to sever them would be an act of cruelty. She drew closer to her Master, feet carried by her very soul.

She dipped her face onto its side, peering over at the regal Phantom of a man through her bright and enlightening gaze.

Christine echoed his intimate calling, "My Angel."

"Erik."

She repeated the foreign name with total oblivion; still, his humanity was a difficult thing for Christine to grasp.

Erik swallowed. No more phantoms; no more angels. For the first time in his forty years, Christine made him long to be a man.

"My name…my name is Erik." Stepping towards Christine, cupping the glory of her face with his quivering hands, "I am no Angel of Music, Christine Daaé. I am a man. I am only Erik."

Christine's rosy lips began to tremble; he hushed them with an index finger. The cool silk of his glove melted from her soft mouth, combing through her long curls…deftly grazing over the nude flesh of her shoulders…running down her entire, exotic landscape…descending just past the small of her waist.

Erik's firm hands locked her delicate waist, smooth thumbs drawing barley there circles atop the gown's lacy material. She melted into his touch. His head dipped forward and nestled into her lovely mane of curls. He inhaled her femininity.

The mysterious porcelain of Erik's mask was set aglow, cool against her heated flesh; it made Christine violently shiver. Erik spun her gently, firmly pressing Christine against his chest. Her eyes fell heavy, lost in euphoria. He was flesh and blood and embracing her to his beating chest.

Yes, a true, flesh and blood man embraced Christine's soul. His soft touch was bashful and tremulous, as it explored her aching skin. All of her senses soared to new and indefinite heights; the slightest, most faint caress left Christine spell-bound and desperate for more. An unfamiliar and rather frightening sensation devoured her whole; burning desire…longings…passion…all unveiled. It was unmistakable. She felt it…the trembling passion in his heated fingertips, the unsteady melody of his breath.

The beautiful and musical beat of his heart quickened against her back.

Christine tucked her head beneath his broad chin, a discrete smile spreading across her lips. Her feminine scent was intoxicating. Christine relaxed in her Angel's arms, feeling a sense of completeness claim her. Erik pressed Christine even nearer to himself, allowing them to entwine as one, inseparable being. The uneven pitter-patter of Erik's heart caressed her slim back. Never had he been so nervous!

Erik had waited a lifetime for this moment.

Erik's hands abandoned her waist, slinking over her sides, brushing just past the sides of her breasts ever so gently. Finally, they encircled her limp neck; Erik pulled stray curls from her ears. His fiery breath tickled her neck, damp lips grazing its elegant length.

Erik was never one to believe in God or Heaven —but his beautiful Christine resting within his arms so freely—threatened to convert any such doubts. If this wasn't heaven…if Christine wasn't proof of God, angels, purity…completeness…perfection…what was?

Erik pressed his mouth to her ear, purring his loving words, "Mon bel Ange de Musique…" (My beautiful Angel of Music…) Erik continued, equally sensual, gently rocking Christine as he spoke. "Vous m'avez fait plaisir, ma Christine céleste…" (You have pleased me, my heavenly Christine…)

Erik rotated Christine, never freeing her from his embrace. Instead, his hold tightened, becoming protective…dangerously possessive.

For quite some time, Erik had been developing intimate feelings for the girl. At first, he was convinced it was mere infatuation; she was beautiful, and the face of his song. But now, as she surrendered to his embrace…Erik knew infatuation was to be the very least of his problems…

Erik was beyond terrified; he'd never loved anybody. Love in the deepest and most sincere form, mind you. No. Not himself, no one. Erik made one, final vow: never would she leave his wing. She would always be his, his beautiful Angel, his intoxicating light, and his promise of love…always. One day, she would see the man behind the mask. One day Christine Daaé would know her Erik. Perhaps, one day…

May God grant His mercy on what ever pitiful soul dared stand in the way of Erik's unearthly affection.

"You have brought my song to life…Christine…my beautiful Angel of Music_…oh, Christine…"_

That voice was so powerful, so consuming. Erik breathed her name with such passion…like the most sacred of prayers. The depth of his affection laced each and every syllable. It weakened her knees and clouded her disheveled thoughts. He was, without any doubt, an Angel of Music.

Her Angel of Music.

Christine stood before her Angel, her Erik. A few tears cascaded down her porcelain cheeks as her emotions got the best of her. For eleven years, Christine had loved this Angel…this man. It was a most exquisite love, unfathomable. One the human race could never hope to know. As a girl—a helpless, astray child—he had placed beauty back into her life. Fresh, renewed purpose into her song. Her soul had been an empty, black void. Incomplete. Her loving Papa had promised an Angel of Music, and he had come.

Erik swept his masterful hands through her draping curls, adoration filling his eyes. He spun her body round in a complete circle, pulling her into his pleasant and wildly throbbing warmth. He felt Christine tighten and clench against his chest.

Being connected to Christine in this way was too much. Erik's body broke out in a vicious chain of shivers; he wasn't able to swallow back a euphoric groan. He found himself praying for the first time in his life. The poor man prayed in vain—God, Erik prayed—that there was no trace of his…humanity…pushing against his sweet Christine. Why must his heart be bound in flesh?

"Satané et misérable humanité…épargne-moi ta malédiction…" (Damn, wretched humanity…spare me your curse…) Christine flinched at the profane melody; God! Erik hadn't realized he'd cursed himself aloud.

His gloved hand pulled stray curls away from her ear; he pressed his mouth against it, burning Christine alive with his fiery words.

"My Angel, face of my song…you have served me well, and I thank you."

"Erik…why have you never shown yourself to me?" Her lips parted in breathless wonderment, eyes sparkling like diamonds. "Why now? Why this night?"

Erik's head sank low, his spirits lower. Tenderly, he took both of Christine's slender hands into one of his own, softly caressing its silky surface with his thumbs. He rested her hand across his unfeeling mask, a lifetime of sorrow clouding his emerald gaze.

"This…is my curse." Erik withdrew Christine's lifeless hand from his mask, bringing it to his lips, kissing ever so softly.

"Christine, oh, Christine…beauty such as yours never shall meet such horrors."

With childish innocence, "Oh, Erik. Have you been badly hurt?"

A long silence claimed the two Angels. Finally, Erik simply stated, "Yes." Erik knew too well: he had answered with complete honesty.

A lethal silence devoured them whole. Awkward and heart-wrenching; a deadly combination. Shattering the quiet:

"Erik…I am…a bit sleepy." She forged a yawn. "I ought to retire for the night."

"You can stay here, Christine, with me. I do have accommodations." His blush glowed under the candle's soft illumination. Erik's shy gaze dropped to the floor.

"I would like that very much."

The Phantom smiled a soft smile, gently taking Christine's hand into his own, walking her to a black, lace curtain. He stepped in front, pulling the draping lace aside.

Erik watched in awe as her auburn eyes widened three full sizes. They sparkled and shined. She admired the lovely swan bed, breath taken way. Erik released the curtain, throwing back the rosy, satin sheets in one, swift motion. She sank on top of them, fondling the cool material between her fingertips. Erik eyed her lively, passionate touch with desire and jealousy. The way she so freely, so intimately, caressed his swan bed. His stomach plunged. Her touch was forbidden to him. Though, he could fantasize…could he not? He always had; for, surely, tonight was no different than his teasing dreams.

Erik knelt at her bedside, gently wrapping his gloved hands around her slim shoulders. An airy gasp filled her musical lungs; Erik lay her down and into a reclining position. He smiled fondly, securely covering Christine with the satin sheet, tucking his Angel in for the night. He fluffed the velvet pillow, sliding it under Christine's reclined head.

Christine returned his sweet gaze, and raised her hand to Erik's mask with hesitation. Erik took it in his, gently pressing it to the porcelain, accepting her touch. Aching for her touch…for her acceptance. Erik, then, led her tiny hand across its cool, porcelain surface, freeing it on his handsome flesh. Her caress was not one of curiosity, but a strange, new intimacy. Erik knew well it was a bit brazen of him, forcing Christine's touch; Erik couldn't control himself. Her hand against his inhuman, unfeeling half was such cruel torture; he needed Christine as much as he needed his music.

To Erik, Christine Daaé was music.

She stroked his unshaven chin, as the stubble pierced through her creamy palm; Erik's eyes shut, appreciating his Angel's touch. This was beyond him. What ever emotion he had felt for her was quickly escalating to new and dangerous heights. This was a point of no return. Erik sighed deeply, opening his eyes. She really was there, in flesh and blood…with him, beside him. He smiled his most genuine smile yet. But he just as soon frowned; Christine's gaze drowned in tears! They glistened and sparkled like diamonds, tugging at his brittle heart-strings.

"Erik?"

"Christine? Why must my angel weep? I cannot bear to see you cry."

"Please—why have you brought me here? For nearly eleven years…you have been my dear Angel. Why, tonight, do you wish to become my Erik?"

His head fell forward, voice breaking. Running a hand through his jet-black and sleek hair, "I…fear I may soon lose you." Her turned from her with a strangled sob. Erik pressed a balled fist to his mouth; he imagined a life without his Christine Daaé. "I could not endure losing you. I cannot."

It was inevitable.

"What? Lose me? How do you speak such words? Never shall you—"

"Christine, you have become so much more to me!…So much more than my student…my Angel of Music…"

She sensed uncertainty in his beautiful voice. It broke her heart. Her soul pained for him. She knew there was much more than what met her eyes. His voice, his sorrowful gaze, whispered his every secret and heartache. Christine knew his mask hid far more than some scar.

"May I ask…what is that? What have I become to you?"

Only silence. "Please, Erik? Tell me. I must know; please, Angel, do not hide from me any longer." More silence. "Erik…?"

"My soul."

"Oh, my Erik…"

He swallowed, caressing her long curls, squeezing them between the silk of his gloves. All other curls elegantly fanned across the rosy sanctuary of pillows. Erik admired an Angel, a taste of heaven. Christine Daaé…what could never be his.

"You have done so much for me. It is far beyond my understanding. How could I ever repay you?"

Erik stood, stepping away from the swan bed and all it offered. He was upset, sickened. She didn't know what she was asking. She could never know, Erik vowed to himself. He had no right to think such indecent thoughts. Just imagine! She once believed him to be an angel; Erik knew he was far from divinity. He wanted so much…too much: her body, her mind, her soul…her love.

"Christine…please, you mustn't ask me such a question."

"But I must! Oh, Erik…what you have done for me…you truly are my Angel of Music. Nothing less…" Smiling, "And yet…everything more. Please, do not be frightened."

She sat up, kicking away the cold sheets. Christine leaned forward, grabbing Erik's dangling hand, pulling him near to her. Her enlightening gaze peered up at Erik from under her dark eyelashes. His heart soared and ached, all at once. Her lashes batted several times before she spoke to him.

"Please…do tell me…what is it? What mustn't I ask of you, Erik?"

Growling, "NO!"

Christine dropped his hand and jumped at his gruff—yet undeniably exquisite—tone. Never had Erik spoken to her in such a voice! It both frightened and entranced Christine. It was all so strange. Erik saw her alarm and immediately felt guilty for having spooked her. Curse him!

Delicately, "Just…sleep, my Angel…"

"No, I shan't! I couldn't!"

Christine wrapped both hands around Erik's lower arm, firmly pulling him into the swan bed. He tumbled backwards, his weight spreading across her lap. Christine winced; surely, he would crush her. He gasped, jumping upright as quickly as he'd fallen. He reddened four shades…at the very least.

His eyes shamefully averted. Erik stared forward, seeing nothing. Only despair.

"It would forever ruin us."

Through a smile, "It would not. This…" Scooting dangerously near to Erik, "I promise you." Christine signaled to him with a sweet, come hither motion. He obeyed, seating himself a proper distance from her. She moved closer with a gentle sigh. He swallowed. Christine tucked a brown ringlet behind her ear and continued, "Share with me."

Christine peacefully rested her head against Erik's chest, breathing a content sigh. She heard the intense pounding of his heart and pulse trembling against her cheek. She couldn't stand it a moment longer! He was so nervous. Not even the smitten, boyish Raoul had been so anxious during their first encounter…so many years ago. And, just think: here was a grown man! The frightening Phantom of the Opera! Oh, what would the managers think of this? She slapped her hand to her mouth, smothering her destined giggle.

Then, Christine's hands slid down her neck, brushing just over the rise of her own trembling breasts (and without realizing it), passing over Erik's tense shoulders…the way she caressed herself…feeding her own desires…was…_beautiful._ Erik nearly died from such an erotic spectacle. She gasped—feeling him further stiffen. Had he never experienced a woman's touch?

Her hands massaged his heart in tender circles, trying to soothe his nerves. Ease his inner doubts. Little did she know—they only worsened at the ecstasy of her touch.

Finally, their gazes met. Locked. Erik's eyes climbed down his heaving chest…observing Christine's daring caress…then, they ran across her adorable face.

Her lips parted as those pleading eyes settled on her rosy mouth. He wanted to turn away but couldn't for the life of him.

Unconsciously, she ran her tongue across the seam of her mouth, moistening her swollen lips. One hand remained sprawled across his thumping heart, her fingers fully spread; the other cradled the back of Erik's head, dipping it forward.

"In your eyes…I see it…"

Erik breathed the word, barely able to speak. "…what?…"

She stood beside the swan-bed, pulling Erik up next to her. He obeyed, wobbly on his legs. Christine perched on her ballerina tiptoes, lifting her face to the level of Erik's eyes. This was no easy stretch.

Christine stumbled a bit, feeling clumsy…far from the poised ballerina she was supposed to be. He steadied the flustered girl with a barely there smile. She resumed. His heavy breathing scorched her softly lit features; the candle's light danced across her face, enhancing her femininity. Christine drew closer…closer…closer…painfully slow, painfully close.

Their heated breath mingled, together, severing the labyrinth's cold and frigid air. The bridge was crossed, watch it burn.

Erik inhaled her delicious scent, savoring Christine. Savoring this moment.

"Erik…Erik…"

"Christine…Mon Ange…"

"Erik…you wish to kiss me…"

Christine's hands tenderly wrapped the back of his head, her fingers interlocking. Her nails gently clawed at his neck's nape; his racing pulse beat against her fingertips. It grew quicker…quicker…Erik held his breath as his eyes fell shut. Christine's lips gently pressed against Erik's in a chaste, heavenly kiss…

Erik moaned into her mouth, head spinning; but quickly jerked away, his shameful hands pushing her innocence far from himself. His breathing was increasingly labored, as his tongue moistened his mouth, tasting Christine's lingering kiss. He shut his heavy eyes, sighing wholeheartedly.

"Erik, you refuse my affection. Why?" Hurt, "You do not wish for this? As I do?"

How could she think that?

"W-what? Far from it! I…crave this far more than you, Christine. Painfully much, I dare say."

"Then let me love you as one would a man…my Erik."

He sighed deeply, chest trembling with deep breaths. "Some men are not meant to be loved."

"Yes. Such men shy from affection; a lover's true, honest embrace."

Erik echoed the magical word many times. "Lover…lover…love…love…lover? No! Please, I beg you. Do not torture me still. Do not do this to me. Christine, that's all I ask of you."

Not understanding, "Torture you still? You speak madness."

Erik swallowed his constricting stomach and forming bile. There was no way around it; Christine deserved his honesty, even if it may very well end him.

Reddening, "Y-yes…it is true. Christine, I have…wanted you for a while now." Her eyes widened at his brazen words. Erik groaned inwardly; he wasn't used to conversing. Christine wasn't understanding. "Not just your beauty…" Blushing further, "Not just your desirable flesh. No…far from it. Your soul, your voice—it is what I truly crave." Erik dropped his chin, dying inside and hating himself.

"Oh, Erik…then, open your eyes, your mind…your heart. Let me love you, lead you from your solitude, your dark world."

Erik mentally cursed himself; he was actually considering her words! Never had he experienced such sweet torture.

"You being here is happiness enough for me, Christine…I could not ask for more happiness."

"But there is so much more!"

"I am sure, but not for me."

"Erik, I remain forever your Angel of Music…I intend to show you heaven and all its glory…If only you shall let me."

Stammering, mentally and verbally tripping, "I…I…Ch—"

Her hot mouth smothered the very last of his words. Erik, once again, found himself moaning into Christine. She flinched a bit, his husky vocals caressing her throat.

"Do not be frightened." Stroking his cheek, "You haven't reason to be." She kissed his forehead through her adoring smile. "I am not," Christine lied, never having felt more anxious. "Erik…complete me."

Christine gently lay Erik into a full reclining position, just as he'd done earlier; his emerald eyes became wide as saucers, not believing, not understanding. His mind, his reason commanded that he pull away—before he had passed the point of no return. Erik's body and soul declared otherwise. As a man, an _adult_…was it not his duty…to correct poor Christine's delusional thoughts? She was bewitched!

His mind and body wrestled. They battled to the death, both equally determined. But the competition was quite pitiful.

Erik's body won. And it triumphed.

Christine gently caressed his broad shoulders and taut chest; reality was finally hitting home, and her own fears and doubts began to threaten her. Wasn't this wrong? Sinful? This man was a complete stranger—she had known her Angel of Music most her life. Erik was a stranger. Christine studied Erik's adoring, trusting gaze. She saw love there. It dawned on her: she needed him as much as he needed her. This was far from sinful or wrong. It was beautiful.

Wet lips replaced her curious hands. Erik groaned in both agony and pleasure as Christine kissed the material of his fine dress-shirt. The wetness dampened the wretched material, plastering it to his hotly tingling skin. She could taste his pounding heart-rate…Christine's mouth climbed up his tense neck, thundering pulse…grazed and outlined his unshaven chin…stopped inches away from his mouth. They locked intense gazes, succumbing to their fire within.

Erik dropped all defenses. Enough was enough.

He lunged forward, capturing Christine's lips in a too rough kiss. His smooth tongue swept over the seam of her mouth, parting it, demanding entrance. She obliged with a soft sigh…their curious tongues danced the forbidden dance, both inexperienced, unsure. Both Christine and Erik had their very first kiss. It was pure, in every sense.

Erik held Christine in a determined kiss as his strong arms snaked around her back. The black satin of his gloves were cool against her unclothed skin, and she shivered beneath his fingertips. Sitting in an upright position, Erik drew her tightly into his embrace, never intending to let go. He elevated her from the swan-bed's sheets, cradling Christine in his arms and tasting the sweet nectar of her neck; she withered and cooed under his sensual advance.

Erik stilled for a moment, holding Christine near to his heart, calling a truce with his lifetime of ill fate. Erik could embrace Christine, just like this, and die having tasted all the heaven the world could ever offer. His hands slid up her back, over the elegant landscape of her neck, finally, tangling in her chocolate curls. Even through the barrier of Erik's gloves, her hair's luscious softness could be felt and savored. He inhaled her overwhelming femininity. Lush silk worshiped the velvety skin of Christine's back, willfully memorizing its every elegant contour. Every slender bend, raised beauty mark for his finding.

Erik gasped aloud; Christine unbuttoned the first several clasps of his shirt, tenderly kissing and savoring the newly exposed flesh as she did so. Her moist lips and kisses bathed his sculpted chest as Erik hissed, bellowing rich growls—much like the beast he was. Christine's fingertips wedged under the parted material. She massaged his chest, undoing another clasp…and another…

Soon, his shirt was completely clasp-less; Christine splayed open the material, savoring his God like form. His chest was chiseled and tempting. Christine's mouth fell open. Erik was a man; Raoul a boy.

Erik read her silence; he stripped himself of his wretched dress-shirt, tossing it…somewhere…meeting her silent demand.

"Oh, my Erik…" Christine's eyes glistened, flooded with tears for her Erik. "My poor, unhappy Erik!" Deep scars were etched into his abused flesh; she outlined each one, loathing the human race. "Poor, beautiful Erik!" She gazed upon the sins of humanity with a heavy heart. Christine buried herself in Erik's deep eyes, finding a lifetime of fear and distrust. She blinked away her tears, meeting his eyes with an indescribable and unearthly compassion. Never had she looked so beautiful, so pure, so gentle and angelic_._

Trembling, "I am so sorry." A fat tear rolled down the slight curve of her cheek; her eyes shifted downwards.

Erik looked upon his darling Angel with adoration, running his masterful hands through her thick blanket of tresses. "Not everyone embraces a soul as pure as your own."

She sniffled, hiccoughed, gave a strained giggle, and wiped away her painful tears. Christine took each of his hands in her own, wrapping herself in them, freeing them on top her gown's laces. She felt his hands shaking against her skin, as his eyes averted downwards like a young schoolboy. Christine kissed his forehead, cooing, "You shan't be frightened. I could never hurt you, Erik. Surely, you know this?" He barely nodded, unable to breathe, unable to think. Christine's heart burned.

She longed to kiss away all of Erik's scars, internal and external. She longed to make him whole.

"Erik…touch me, trust me. Once more…I give you my soul."

"Your soul is beautiful."

Erik remained beyond scared, silent, and unmoving. Christine urged him on with the sparkling depths of her eyes. The gown's loosened material puckered forward, begging to be stripped away. Erik swallowed his nerves, pushing away the dress…pulling it down her slim shoulders. Christine wriggled out of it, as Erik's wide-eyes met their newest challenge: her corset.

His hands fiercely shook against her as he slowly worked her laces. Soon enough, she was released. Erik ran his large hands up and down the milky flesh of her back. Christine exhaled a long sigh of relief, freed from the corset's stubborn binding.

Erik's genius hands crept over her nude, milky shoulders, caressing them lovingly. He rested them just above the rise of her full breasts with hesitation. Erik's eyes fell shut in a state of euphoria and disbelief; the soft flesh rose and sank from his fingertips.

Christine slipped the Phantom's gloves from his oversized hands, letting them join the ever-piling plethora of clothing, his eyes remaining shut all the while. Christine gasped and Erik's tense body twitched; Christine set each chilly hand over her breasts, delighting in the sensations a truly intimate touch brings.

Christine passionately chanted his name like a sacred prayer, "Erik…Erik…Erik…" Erik basked beneath the throbbing heat of his name. "Make love to me…" Such words sent Erik beyond the point of no return; she'd awoken a slumbering beast.

The corset was torn from her petite frame with a sudden urgency. Erik's masculine hands covered each of Christine's breasts completely; he kneaded them with tough love through her soft chemise, making them his own. Christine's pretty eyes shut in a state of ecstasy; Erik was sent over the edge as he witnessed, first hand, the obvious pleasure he was giving Christine. Cradling his lap, she arched into his lively hands. Experiencing a woman's—his angel's touch—or a woman allowing her to be touched by him: Erik could not say which brought him more pleasure.

Christine collapsed onto Erik's damp chest. Erik inhaled a groan of both shame and anticipation, as his aching arousal pushed against Christine. He was sure she would turn away, disgusted by his desire; Erik was pleasantly surprised when she pushed against him, her eyes lost to passion. Erik trembled against her, the source of his physical affection taking over his clouded mind. His senses soared indefinitely; Christine slid down the magnificent length of his body, hands lingering just above his sweat-lined trousers. Her warm fingers coiled around the high, cummerbund waist, burying slightly beneath the trouser's rugged material. Erik twitched, withered and squirmed uncontrollably, hissing musical breaths. Christine relieved the belt, one step closer to Erik in all his glory.

"Oh, Christine…Christine…oh…"

Christine held her breath, unhooking the trouser's first pair of clasps, masking her murderous anxiety. She felt brazen, ashamed and unlady like—the dire need to shower Erik with love, humanly affection, overshadowed her doubts and fears. Christine never would've been so forward and uninhibited, had it been any other man than her beloved Erik. She knew he wouldn't ever allow harm come to her; eleven years of Erik's unwavering dedication stood as proof.

Christine massaged his painful manhood through his drooping trousers with a gentle and shy caress. Erik pushed against her touch with a husky moan, body betraying his willpower. Christine's caress melted away. She held her breath, planting each hand on either side of his hips, tearing away the final barrier…so painfully slow. Just as Erik was finally about to be freed:

"No! Christine!"

She gave him a blushing look, silently questioning his refusal.

"I cannot—_I __will not—_do this to you…" Sitting up, gently pushing her away, "I care for you far too much."

Christine harnessed back her destined tears. "You will not love me?"

"No. I refuse to love you…take you as my own…blindly."

"I—I do not understand?"

Erik's deep sigh vibrated the entire swan-bed, caressing Christine. He set his hands atop the cold porcelain of his half mask, his own tears forming. "I refuse to condemn you; condemn an Angel to the love of a demon." Christine scooted nearer to Erik. Interrupting her objection, "No, Christine, no! You know nothing of me, what horrors I could descend upon you; you take me blindly!"

"Then, let me know you…let me love you!"

Christine threw Erik's hands from the mask, replacing them with her own. It all happened so fast: Erik was unmasked, screaming a heart wrenching cry. He leapt from the swan-bed, face hidden shamefully behind his quivering hands. His voice was broken, bleeding a lifetime of torture.

"NO! I TRUSTED YOU! HOW COULD YOU HAVE, CHRISTINE? I KNOW NOW—YOU ARE NO DIFFERENT! NO!"

Christine stood behind Erik, tightly embracing his shuddering body.

"My faith in you has failed! Christine…where have your wings gone to?"

Her tears swam down the flesh of Erik's heated back in generous streams.

"How, Christine…how could you do this to me_?"_ Through a choked sob, "To us?"

Christine stood on her tiptoes; again, her hands replaced his own. She fondled Erik's ungodly half with a deft, gentle touch. She had yet to see his deformity—her touch hinted it was far from subtle. She swung her small body in front of Erik's. His eyes stayed planted on the cold, stone floor as he felt Christine's penetrating stare. She will scream, condemn the demon, her fallen Angel…Erik imagined with a heavy heart.

His curse was severe and ghastly, but Christine saw past it.

"Erik…you are nothing short of beautiful."

"Wh—"

"This…it changes nothing! You are still my Angel, my Erik."

Coldly, "You pity me. Nothing more, nothing less."

Christine embraced Erik, pushing him. He tumbled backwards clumsily, crashing into the rosy swan-bed. Christine followed after, spreading her body across his, entwining their legs, arms, lips…

Between kisses, "No. I love you. All of you." She sighed, stroking his hairline, burying in his eyes. "Are you really so blinded?"

Tears flowed down his deformity, purifying his curse. This was surreal. She really was an angel—_his angel._ His.

Erik's love for her soared to new heights, as he wept a lifetime of heartache. Christine gingerly kissed his swollen eyelids, reviving Erik. Then, bathed his entire face with her fearless affection, not daring to leave an inch of Erik unloved. She smiled through her sloppy kisses; he seemed to grow stronger with each one.

Erik pulled away, gazing deeply in her beautiful eyes, finding her soul. "Christine…I love you. I always have loved you."

"As have I."

With a new strength, Erik tore away his trousers and undergarment in one, suave motion.

"Now… I shall _love all_ of you…" He felt Christine shudder at the power of his words.

Erik flipped Christine onto her back, hovering on top of her, preying on his sweet Angel. He playfully nibbled her neck, as his tongue slid over her jaw line. She twisted and turned, Erik's inhuman masculinity tying her to himself, restraining her pitiful movements.

His romantic and intimate desire for his Christine consummated. His darker half took over; Erik had become the Phantom of the Opera.

Erik freed Christine from her chemise in a heartbeat. He purred and panted euphorically into Christine's tight throat, his hands relishing her curves. He pushed out of Christine's tight embrace, letting his hungry eyes feast on his Angel. His Christine Daaé. He'd never seen a female au natural before, but knew Christine's perfection put most women to damn shame. His emerald gems filled with desire as they danced across her petite ballerina's frame.

Christine felt the penetration of his stare; tiny hands enveloped her exposed body in an instinctive, maidenly gesture. Erik peeled them away and held his breath.

"Let me see you."

The candleabras' wild flames bathed the two lovers, mirroring their inner fire.

"Oh, Christine…" Her spine stiffened beyond repair at the sound of her Angel's rich voice. "My dreams have done you no justice." Erik's massive body weight tightened against Christine, waves of desire swimming through his boiling veins. He lowered his lips to her forehead, breathing constricted. His lips came lower…brushing across her soft eyelids…sweetly ghosting his kisses over her collarbone.

"You…are breathtaking, my love." Erik planted a kiss between the peak of her two, upright breasts. He ran his tongue between their landscape, nipping softly at the porcelain flesh, tasting Christine's beating heart. Christine stiffened against the satin sheets, as Erik worshiped every inch of her. Erik worshiped her with such an unfathomable longing a faithful passion—as a man dutifully worships his goddess. "Nothing short of divinity, Ma Chérie."

His fiery mouth found the pounding pulse of her neck, nipping and teasing. Tears pricked Christine's eyes. "I dreamt you came to me once…not as my Angel of Music…but as a man." Christine fell into bashful silence, withdrawing her eyes and regretting the brazen confession.

He was deeply moved. Erik echoed her words in pure wonderment, "A man?" How magical is sounded! A tragic silence fell upon them, and Christine nearly wept from the meaning of his awe. "A man?…A man?…A man!" Erik snuggled into the crook of Christine's neck, as he sighed, laughed and groaned all at once. "A man, Christine?"

The barrier—which had separated the Angel of Music and Erik as two, different phenomenons—burned to the ground.

Christine felt Erik smile against her cheek.

Was it true? Had she possibly wished for him? As he had wished for her, countless nights?

Could it be…?

Erik's heart sighed in beautiful relief.

Christine was surprised by the deeply masculine chuckle which vibrated against her. "You dreamt I came to you?…In all your fantasies…you always knew…that man and mystery…"

Erik pushed himself firmly against Christine, connecting her diaphragm with his. He wanted to feel the passion of her imminent words: "Were both in you…" Erik nodded against her.

She blushed; the red of her cheeks were wildly attractive against the white of her flesh. Erik's heart clenched.

"I am sorry. I should not have spoken. It is…indecent of me to—" And the pressure of Erik's lips devoured her last words.

Between kisses, "May I tell you the first time…the first time I knew I loved you?" Pressing a soft kiss to the crook of Christine's neck, "The first time…I knew I could not live without you? Without your voice…without Miss Christine Daaé?"

Christine pushed her head against the pillows, a nervous smile on her lips. Erik stared into her eyes, getting lost within their depths. "I saw your smile. After I heard you…your prayers…after I had become your Angel of Music…"

Her eyes fell shut at his poetic words, reliving the memory. Gently, stroking her cheek, "No. No, Christine, no. Look into the depths of my eyes, Christine. You must. Let me know you are here…with me." She did as her angel commanded, barely breathing. "That first night…I saw your happiness. The happiness which I had given you." Her lips parted. "I adored and cherished you…very much so…as a father does his child…but you matured, _Christine_…as did the very depth…the very core of my affection…"

"Erik…love me." His response sent Christine soaring.

Erik's lips and tongue teamed up, lapping up the heavy pants which vibrated Christine's throat.

Between deep and intoxicating kisses, Erik purred:

"By God, Christine. I want to take you so badly…my desire for you… is painful. Painful fantasies of your glory haunts my _every dream_…oh, Christine. So many nights…right where we lay now…I thought of you…touching you…making love to you…making your body sing in ways you never dreamt possible…becoming one with the wonders of your body…soul…taking you as my own…I imagined loving you, as a man loves his wife. Christine, _release me_…"

"Your voice is an instrument of pleasure."

Erik chuckled—a husky and captivating sound. Her toes curled. "Mmmm…allow me to _play my art_…Angel…" Christine shivered beneath him, lost in a passionate ecstasy.

Erik growled into the chamber of Christine's throat, as he dominated her with an erotic fierceness…very much like the Phantom he was. Erik's lively hand found her very core. Christine arched into his hot touch, breathing her dizzy words, "Ohh, Erik…Erik…ERIK!"

Inexperienced as he was, Erik was a creature built from passion, desire, and sensuality. He acted from instinct, in perfect tune with Christine's quivering body. It was the glorious hands of a musician which _felt_ her darkest desires.

"Christine, Mon Ange…"

"Cease such torment. Make love to me…" Christine begged her Phantom. "I give you myself."

Huskily, "Ohhh, Christine. You are a thing of beauty…no emperor received so fair a gift."

Erik pressed his mouth against the shell of her ear. "You are music." Erik continued the sweet ministrations, holding Christine close, finding it difficult to breathe, "My music." Erik's long, elegant fingers coiled, possessively wrapping the shaft of her throat. "And this…" Christine swallowed beneath his hot fingertips. "This is my voice. **Mine**." His hands slowly melted away. Through a thick, husky accent, "I live within you, Christine. Truly…we are one. We cannot escape each other."

Christine shook in pure ecstasy. "Then take me as your own."

His voice was low, sultry, and every bit seductive, "Comme tu veux. Je te ferais mienne…dans ton esprit, ton corps, ta chair…" (As you wish. I shall make you mine…in spirit, body, flesh…)

Erik centered himself in front her heavenly gates with a musical groan.

"Now…I shall show you Heaven, my Angel of Music."

He slid in slightly, quivering from the painful anticipation and promising release to come.

Christine's chin passively sank forward; Erik cradled it in his moist palm, lifting her eyes to his powerful gaze. "I love you, Christine Daaé." She nodded her love, voice stolen from her breast. Sweetly kissing the top of her forehead, "Forgive me."

Erik sank into her completely; tears swelled her eyes from the new and uncomfortable sensation. Erik remained perfectly still, buried deep in her womanhood, allowing Christine to get used to him.

"Ah!…Christine!…oh…Dieu du Ciel…" (Oh…God in Heaven…)

Erik claimed her trembling lips in a gentle kiss, eyes falling shut. "Erik…please…oh…make love to me…deny me no longer…beautiful Erik…"

Erik carefully moved in and out of his Christine, maneuvering similarly to how he would drive the gondola. His husky breaths shortened, as the sensation started reigning control of his entire being.

"Oh…Christine…my Angel…my Christine…Oh…"

"My Erik…love me; give me yourself…"

"Christine, Christine…tell me I'm forever yours…" Christine responded to his command through a defenseless, weak moan.

"Christine, Mon Ange…say it…you _must say_ it…"

"You are…you are My Erik…now, always…Angel of Music."

Losing all bodily control, Erik moved faster and faster; Christine's soft cries of discomfort melted into ones of pleasure. He felt amazing, playing her body with unfathomable tenderness and passion, as he would an instrument—he had rightfully earned her forgiveness.

Even Erik's sounds of pleasure were exquisite, music to Christine's ears. He was, indeed, the Angel of Music. Erik rejoiced as his other half echoed his pleasure. He could hear and feel Christine's passion quickly escalating to that inevitable peak.

"Sing…sing, my Angel of Music…_sing for me_…"

Christine's lungs sang out her ecstatic scales, singing for him—_her Angel of Music_. Only for him, always for him. His underworld echoed, the stone walls amplifying her cries of satisfaction. He truly was her Maestro; Erik had taught her music, love, and the truest of intimacy.

God, in Heaven, she was beautiful! Erik melted. The combination of his Angel's familiar song and foreign touch was Erik's undoing.

Their beautiful cries of pleasure joined together in a strange, musical duet. Both angels felt a tingling warmth shoot through their spine, spilling through their entire blood flow. They shuddered and trembled against each other, beads of sweat swimming down their sides and back. His moist forehead glistened, raining crystal tears of precipitation. Erik and Christine finalized their euphoric sympathy in perfect harmony, both experiencing the release which they had never known with another. Together, they floated up…up into the bounties of Apollo's Lair and further yet.

Erik crashed beside her in an attempt to catch his breath, letting his waves of intimate release die down; he embraced Christine snugly, tossing her into a sweet spooning position.

"Erik?"

"Yes, Mon Ange?"

"I love you."

"I love you, Christine." Gingerly stroking her long curls with pure adoration, "You sleep now, my beautiful Angel of Music."

The two slumbering Angels spiraled into their separate dreamworlds.

Erik sighed deeply in his sleep; he no longer sought dreams. For the first time, life was that much sweeter.

_a/n: Review—that's all I ask of you!_


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